


Arguments with the King

by WritingsOfAHobbit



Series: Thranduil/Reader Stories [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3249473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingsOfAHobbit/pseuds/WritingsOfAHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine getting into a VERY heated argument with Thranduil that results in you slapping him and fighting to keep him off of you when he tries to comfort you</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

To you, your sister’s wedding is as important as your own. It is an event that should only be missed if one is on their death bed. This is the only time your sister will ever marry and you are determined to not miss it.

Your husband, unfortunately, does not see it you way.

Party and wine-enthusiast Thranduil holds at least four feasts a year, the most important being the Feast of Starlight. Your sister’s wedding falls on the date of one of these feasts, but as it is not the most important feast of the year, you assumed Thranduil would not mind taking you to the wedding.

You assumed wrong.

“Absolutely not.”

It takes you a few moment to realise that Thranduil has refused you. He _never_ refuses you.

“Thranduil, ninya venno, all I ask is for seven days. You will scarcely notice my absence.”

Thranduil does not look at you. His eyes rest firmly on his kingdom, a view provided from one of the few windows high enough to overlook the forest. “You’re right, I will not note your absence. For I will be required to come too.”

“You do not have to come. My sister will understand.”

“But the visiting dignitaries will not. What message will it send if the King of Mirkwood is not present at the wedding of his wife’s sister?”

You sigh. You care little for what the lesser lords and gossiping ladies will think. Their thoughts disturb hardly a leaf within this kingdom. “Then join me in the celebrations.”

“I will not.” Thranduil replies adamantly. “I have planned this feast for a year.”

“Yes, and you will plan the next one for just as long. Why is this feast so important to you? It falls on no date of importance.”

Thranduil turns to face you know, his brow furrowed deeply. “I would not expect you to understand.” He says shortly, before striding across the room to the door which leads to his private study. He has spent too much time in his study. The recent months have seen him working hard and sleeping little. He is on the brink of exhaustion and he’s stressed to the point of sickness. But you won’t let him order you around.

“Of course I do not understand if you won’t tell me!” you follow him, determined to not let him sway you. “Thranduil, this is the wedding of my little sister. I have no other siblings. Will you not let me say goodbye to her?”

“You will see her after the wedding. She is marrying another elf, not sailing for the Undying Lands.”

You grit your teeth and press your hands firmly against your thighs. For whatever reason, Thranduil has chosen to be stubborn. You need to handle this with care. “Thranduil, please. I have not asked you for anything this important in out ten years of marriage. Will you not let me see her on her wedding day?”

“No.”

The answer is so blunt, so emotionless, so decisive, that you feel as though he has slammed a door in your face. It makes your blood _boil_.

“You cannot stop me.” You state defiantly. “I am going and if you cannot give me a proper reason as to why I _cannot_ go, then you can give me a proper reason as to why I should _return_.”

“You will stay here because I demand it of you.” Thranduil snaps, seating himself at his desk as though this is a daily occurrence between the two of you.

“You _demand_ it of me?” You scoff. “I am not some serving girl that you can order around. I am your wife. A _queen_.”

“You are queen only because I have married you.”

“Yes, because before you I had to beg for my food on the streets.” You glower at him. “I held position and power before you, Thranduil. You have only made me your equal.”

Thranduil looks up at you with cold, unforgiving eyes. “You are to remain here, in these halls, even if I have to lock you in your chambers myself. You are _not_ attending the wedding, you are _not_ leaving this kingdom and you are _not_ going to argue with me about this.”

You consider arguing with him, but your mother taught you that actions speak louder than words. You turn and stalk from the room, intending to fetch your bags from your room.

When you had packed your bags you had not thought that Thranduil would deny you this, but now that he had your pre-packed bags would give you the opportunity to-

A cold hand grips your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

You turn to argue with your husband, to demand that he lets you go, but your words catch in your throat. There is an anger in Thranduil’s eyes that you have never seen before.

“I am your _king_.” He hisses. “You will do as I command!”

You try to pull your wrist from his hand, but his grip is strong. “I am your _wife_!” you retort. “I do not take orders from you!”

“If I hadn’t been for me you would be stuck in that pitiful excuse for a home!”

That hurts more than his long, thin fingers against your wrist. Your home meant everything to you, and you thought he knew that. “I am sorry you had to marry someone from that pitiful place.” You snap. “I will see my sister wed and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

“You will do as I say or I will lock you in this room!”

“You will _not_!” you tug your wrist again, but his grip is unyielding.

“I will do what I wish. I am your _king_. You _owe me_.”

“I owe you nothing!” You’re speaking through gritted teeth, a result of the frustration and the dull pain.

Thranduil yanks on your wrist, pulling you against his chest. “If it weren’t for me you’d have been married to some peasant like the whore you were mistaken for!”  

 _Crack_!

The elf king stumbles back, his eyes wide and his cheek red. In his surprise he’s released your wrist. The stress and the exhaustion is gone and his eyes focus on you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“Nine calwa indis.” He whispers, horror lacing his voice. He takes a step forwards and you take two steps back. “I am sorry. Goheno nin.”

“Stay _away_ from me!”

Thranduil is taller than you and he easily closes the gap between the two of you. He reaches for your hand to inspect your wrist, but a smack to his shoulder throws off his aim.

The king is persistent and the following three hits don’t deter him. He cups your face and you have to plant the point of your elbow in the crook of his. The motion has him bending suddenly to the side and you step out around him, giving him a firm push that sends him stumbling.

Whilst he rights himself you run from the room, tears welling in your eyes.

The tears spill over and run down your cheeks and you race down the corridor, ignoring his pleas to stop.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onónë – Sister
> 
> Anel – Daughter
> 
> Hiril vuin – My lady
> 
> Láta andondin – Open the gate

“Congratulations!” you open arms to your sister, hugging her close. “Onónë, you look beautiful!” Your sister blushes and you release her to embrace your new brother. “Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you.” He smiles, wrapping an arm around your sister’s waist. He smiles down at her with such love and affection that you are reminded of the ruins your own marriage currently lies in. The two newlyweds don’t notice your smile falter. “We’re glad you could make it. You arrived so late that we thought you weren’t coming.”

“Nonsense! I wouldn’t miss this for anything.” You insist.

“It’s a shame Thranduil couldn’t be here.” You sister lays her hand on your forearm in a comforting manner.

“The politics of the realm keep him occupied. He sends his blessings.”

As your sister and her husband move on to speak with other guests, you seek an exit from the marriage hall. All this love and affection was making your heart ache. It has been four days since you’ve seen or spoken to Thranduil. The last words you said to him still echo in your mind.

_Stay away from me!_

He seems to have taken your words to heart. You were able to leave the forest and make your way here without any sight of him or one of the woodland guards. Had Thranduil wished it, you wouldn’t have made it out of the halls.

You had arrived here with a story of never-ending politics and a husband that dare not leave his kingdom to struggle, but had insisted that you still attend the wedding. At the end of the week, when you were supposed to return home, the truth of events might just reveal themselves.

How were you to return to a husband that held you against your will? How were you supposed to return to a husband that you had caused so much bodily harm to? Not only had you stuck his face, but you’d struck his shoulder, elbowed him and pushed him. He had every right to bar you entrance from the kingdom.

To learn of your fate you would have to return to Mirkwood, but that could cause trouble itself. No, you would have to speak with your parents at the end of the week and explain everything to them.

You find your way onto the balcony as the music starts playing behind you. Below you the lights of the birthplace sprawl across the valley, mimicking the stars in the sky above them. There is a yearning in your heart, but it is not for this place. In only ten short years Thranduil and the woodland realm has become your home, and the rift between you and your husband hurts.

It might not hurt so much if this was a birthday celebration, not a wedding. Yet a wedding it is and the music, laughter and love remind you of your own wedding not so long ago. How could things have gotten so bad in such a short space of time?

“Anel, what troubles you?” your mother stands behind you on the balcony, and you wonder if she’s part of the reason that your marriage to Thranduil is already rocky. She’s always been in charge of the relationship between her and your father, with your father putting up very little protest. You tried to adopt her attitudes in your own marriage and look where that has gotten you.

“Nothing, amal.” You’re lying and she knows it. With a gentle smile your mother moves to stand by your side, linking your arm through hers.

“Last I saw you with that expression on your face, you were nursing ‘unrequited’ love for an elf prince.” Your mother fixes you with a stern look. “I was led to believe that love was requited, as you married him ten years ago.”

Your lips draw together in a thin, pained line. “I thought it was requited too, amal.”

Your mother tugs on your arm, drawing you over to a bench. “Tell me what your husband done?”

With a sigh you tell your mother how he has been over worked, exhausted and stressed for the last few months, how he did not wish for you to come to the wedding and how his anger resulted in a physical fight, and how that fight might very well have ended up with you exiled.

Your mother listens to you in silence, nodding occasionally. When you’ve finished speaking she sits in silence for a moment. “Thranduil love you, never doubt that. He will justify your actions and welcome you back with open arms when you return.” She rises to her feet, pulling her with you. “Today is a day for celebration. Get some wine in you and go dance with your new brother.”

X

By the time you are ready to leave three days later, your heart is so heavy in your chest you think you are starting to stoop. Your mother hasn’t approached you on the subject of your husband again, and you don’t desire to bring it up.

Your sister and her husbands are waiting by the gates to see you off, your parents having seen you in the library earlier. “Safe travels.” Your sister smiles, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “I hope that next time we meet you have been blessed with an elfling.”

“I hope so too, sister.” You turn to her husband and smile. “Treat her well, or you’ll have me to deal with.”

“She is the greatest treasure in my world.” He assures you. “I would die before I see her hurt.”

You force a smile, though it is almost painful to do. You bid them farewell before mounting your horse and departing.

The weather is pleasant and your horse is strong. As long as there are no delays you should be at the borders of the forest by nightfall. You aren’t overly keen to return, but you want the confrontation out of the way as soon as possible. The longer you are away the larger the rift between you will grow, until it is a chasm that cannot be breached.

The thought of losing the possibility to reconcile with Thranduil makes you ride though the day, pushing your mount as far as it will go. By the time you reach the edges of the forest before sundown, it is as tired as your heart.

You dismount and unsaddle the horse, finding water and allowing it to graze. You decide to rest here tonight and push through the woods in the morning.

However you’ve barely been there for half an hour before the trees rustle and shake unnaturally. There is something moving through the flora. You shrink back against your horse, urging it to be quiet as you unsheathe your sword.

The night falls silent then the sound comes again, closer than before. There are voices this time, though the words are too quiet for you to hear. The rustling grows louder until four elves spill out of the woods. You blink in surprise and hastily sheathe your sword. They look more surprised than you do.

“Hiril vuin!” the leader of the small party exclaims, dropping into a deep bow. His companions mimic him. “We have been looking for you!”

“I have been at a wedding.” You reply, stepping away from the horse. “I did inform the king as to where I would be.”

“Of course, hiril vuin, but he expected you back a day ago.” The elf steps forwards. “Might you come with us back to the halls?”

You nod, beckoning to two of the elves. “Will you see to the horse? She has had a long journey and is quite tired.”

The two elves nod, one stepping forwards to lead the horse and the other gathering up the saddle and the bags.

The four elves lead you and the horse back through the forest. It is a long walk made longer by the faded light and winding trails. You reach the gate just before the moon reaches the highest point in the sky.

“Láta andondin!” one of the elves calls out and the gates swing open.

You take a firm breath before stepping inside the halls, wondering for a moment if Thranduil will be there, ready to send you out again. He is not.

The halls are empty besides the gate keepers.

“Take my horse and see that it is cared for.” You command the elves before taking your leave.

You doubt Thranduil’s work ethic has dwindled in the last week, and he will most likely be in his study. You are tired and want nothing more than to curl up in bed, but you daren’t do such a thing until you have spoken to the king.

Sure enough there is light seeping out from under the door of his study. You steel yourself before knocking, pushing all hopes from you head.

Upon the king’s call to enter you push the door open and step inside. He looks up only once the door is closed, and surprise washes over his face as horror washes over yours.

Thranduil looks _sick_. His skin has a grey hue, his eyes dull and ringed in dark circles. His hair looks fragile and messy, as though it hasn’t been brushed nor washed since you left.

“Thranduil!” you step towards him with wide eyes, stopping just short of the desk. Beyond his surprise he has shown no emotion, welcoming or otherwise. “Thranduil?” you question gently, fear gripping your heavy heart.

“You came back.” He sounds broken. “I thought… I didn’t think…”

You hurry round the table and drop to your knees at his side. “Of course I came back.” You take his hands in yours, worrying about how cold they are.

“What I said to you.” Thranduil shudders. “You have no reason to come back here.”

“You’re here.” You smile sadly, pressing a kiss to a cold knuckle. “Oh, my love, I am sorry.”

“Sorry?” Thranduil echoes. “What are you sorry for?”

“I struck you. I pushed you away. I _hurt you_.” You stand, cupping his face and pressing your forehead against his.

“It was justified.” One of Thranduil’s cold hands lifts to yours, pressing it harder against your face. His other hand rubs lightly against the wrist he held too tightly. “Ninya calwa indis, it is I who must ask for your forgiveness. I spoke to you harshly, denied you the only thing you asked me.”

“Oh, Thranduil, of course I forgive you.” You smile. Taking a little step back as he stands.

Thranduil pulls you into a tight hug, lifting you onto your toes with the force of it. He presses his lips gently to yours before kissing your cheek and burying his face in your hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Ninya Venno – My Husband  
> Ninya calwa indis – My beautiful wife


End file.
